


Eight Questions

by Ms_Julius



Series: SINF-week 4 [3]
Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Julius/pseuds/Ms_Julius
Summary: In order to kill some time during their stay at the prison island, Billy coaxes Machiavelli to play a little game.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Third part of SINF-week 4. Prompt is "San Francisco/Alcatraz", and you know how much I love that damn island.  
> We do not talk about how long this took me to write, yeah?
> 
> This takes place after the first chapter of the fic "The Moment You Realize", so checking that out might help you understand some of this story, but by no means is it necessary. You'll do just fine without reading it first.

The campfire the two immortals had set up in one of the empty prison cells cracked silently as Billy pushed some more dry pieces of wood into the shallow flames. The air inside of the concrete walls was starting to warm up, and as the fire grew the temperature settled to a comfortable level, allowing them to sit pleasantly at the opposite sides of it.

After their recent ‘swim’ at the bay and the encounter with the nereid, they had agreed on trying to dry their soaking clothes by the fire, should they manage to build one. To Machiavelli’s slight astonishment, Billy had taken the lead, quickly gathering together a hefty pile of relatively dry sticks and logs found from the abandoned watchmen’s hut by the outer walls near the shore, and had successfully ignited a small bonfire.

As the warmth started to crawl into their numb limbs, the cowboy kicked off his boots and pulled a sharp knife from the left one. Picking up a piece of wood, he settled on carving it out in the shape of little figure. Chips of birch fell down on the concrete floor, and despite his silent efforts of trying to get a quick glance at other immortal’s hands, Machiavelli could not make out what it was supposed to represent.

Oddly enough, that didn’t bother him as much as it should have.

“I did not know you were a carver.”

Startled by a sudden voice coming from the other side of the fire, Billy lifted his head from his work and looked briefly at the Italian before grinning wildly at him. “There’s a bunch of things you don’t know about me, and carving is honestly the most boring one of them.”

With a mild tilt of his head, Machiavelli leaned in closer to the growing flames. “I believe I know a great deal about you, considering my years of research regarding all the immortals currently known to mankind.” He braced his elbows against his bent knees, resting his chin at the palm of his hand. “I have more than a few files written of you as well.”

Billy raised an eyebrow at that, spitting into the far corner of the otherwise empty room while setting his half-done carving aside. A faint glint of interest had appeared in his blue eyes, and the Italian magician knew the follow up would pursue.

The young man rarely let anything he found interesting slide.

“Well, if you know so much about me, I’mma say there is a little controversy going on.” With a flick of a wrist, he stuck the knife into a log left next to their campfire. “One could even say that you’re being a bit of an ass right now, giving how you brag about knowing my personal info throughout and still refusing to share anything about yourself with your fellow mate here!”

Machiavelli’s head popped up, his expression sourer than anything Billy had seen him display before. A muscle in his cheek was twitching, giving his angular face even stonier appearance.

The look on the older man’s eyes was downright acid.

“Unlike _some_ of us, I am a private person, making it a point to keep my personal data deeply guarded and in secret. I do not simply spread my interests and contact information around to every possible social media site all the way from dating apps to that dreadful Facebook, and then wonder how on earth did they end up in someone else’s possession.”

The patronizing tone in Machiavelli’s voice did not go unnoticed, prompting Billy to sit up straighter and aiming a fast glare at the man. “I have you know, I’m very careful whilst online! I do not use my real name or my real address in any of my profiles. Even my pictures are altered to a certain extent!”

A sudden realization hit him mid sentence, causing him to stare at other man sitting across from him. “Wait a sec there! What do you know about my online profiles?”

Machiavelli, whose attention had shifted from the conversation a moment ago, visibly winced at the accusing timbre in Billy’s words and turned away slightly, averting his gaze from the frown now forming on his companion’s face. For a while it seemed that the silence would last for hours, but finally the Italian swallowed his hammered pride and met the blue eyes again, a pale face as blank as ever.

“In the purpose of confirming data, I took a look at your social media sites. It was merely a tool for me to verify my source’s claims about you as a person.” A quiet huff escaped from his lips as he leaned back a bit, seating his back against the stony wall behind him. “And I must say, their conclusions were spot on.”

A pout appeared on Billy’s face, but strangely, the cowboy refrained from commenting further. Instead he changed his approach slightly, his voice even as he tipped his wide-brimmed hat off from his forehead and spoke out with a lighter tone, clearly trying to calm the seething gaze currently aimed at him.

“We should play a game.”

“A game?” The magician took a better position while keeping his inquiring gaze nailed to the younger man. “What are you talking about?”

The spark that started to shine in Billy’s eyes should have been his first sign of warning, but he didn’t have time to back out before the blonde had scooted over, now sitting nearly within the rising flames, the pair of blue orbs gleaming in the faint lighting. The unnerving eagerness that could be heard in his next words caused a wave of shudders to run down Machiavelli's back, his own confidence starting to fade as he watched the other man basically jumping at his nonexistent seat.

“This is an easy one, really. The name of the game is ‘ _question game_ ’ and the rules are pretty simple. I get to ask you a question, and then you can ask me one!” The grin on the cowboy’s face grew even wider, if possible. “And all the answers must be 100 % true! No half-truths or any stuff like that, just bold, butt-naked honestly in good ol’ fashion way!”

A few minutes went by in complete silence. Machiavelli’s posture had stiffened up quite noticeable, his eyes moving from staring at Billy in disbelief to darting to the ground when the cowboy refused to lower his own gaze in return. Eventually the Italian ran a hand through his own, now disheveled hair and let out a barely audible sigh.

“First of all, this does not sound like a contest, Billy. It is literally just a poor excuse for you to try and invade my privacy in under the guise of a made-up game.”

Billy’s brows wrinkled up. “No it’s not! It is an actual game.” He trailed off for a moment, a sly smile creeping in the corners of his lips. “I’ve played this with my dates countless of times.”

“Dates?” Machiavelli frowned. “I did not know you had been engaging in such pastime after being granted immortality.”

Billy let out a rowdy laughter. “So your ‘sources’ don’t know everything about me after all!”

The Italian lowered his eyes in consideration. Typically he was not one for idle diversions like this, but as it stood, he had a change to update his data about his partner in crime, possibly learning something new that could prove useful in the future. An old stir of thrill cursed through his veins, luring out a narrow smile.

“Perhaps we should play this trivial game of yours. At least it will offer us a way to kill time while we are stuck at this island.”

The smirk on Billy’s face grew immensely and the cowboy leaned forward once again. His legs were now crossed, and the hat he had adjusted earlier was thrown with a snappy toss beside the leather boots lying in stained ground. Machiavelli couldn’t help but grimace at that.

“Must you show so little care with your pieces of clothing? You do realize that we do not have any changes with us, otherwise we would have simply replaced the soaked ones once we came back inside?”

Chuckling softly, Billy settled back down and spun his hand around in a fast circle. “You worry too much. A little bit of dirt never hurt a soul.” He obviously saw nothing wrong with his course of action and proceeded to demonstrate his beliefs by pressing his bare hand against the floor. He lifted it up, the tanned skin now dark with mud. “See, no harm done here!”

“If you get infected while playing in that filth, I am not carrying your convulsing corpse back to the mainland.”

The cowboy’s slender shoulders shook with laughter. In a sweep of a hand he cleared his fingers with the corner of his flannel shirt. “You’re such a grinch, Machiavelli. Lighten up a little, would ya?” He tapped his thumb against his chin, smirking so that his teeth were showing. “Besides, I think it’s time we start the game, right?”

Machiavelli sighed, but allowed the other move even closer up until they were so close to the fire that the heat started to sting in their spread fingers. “I suppose so. How many questions does this game include, exactly?”

“As many as we want, I guess”, Billy said, “but I was thinking something like 20 for starters.”

“Twenty?” Machiavelli’s face scowled up in aversion. “I am not doing any more than five.”

“That’s barely anything at all! We have to do at least ten. Otherwise, what is the point of even playing?”

The Italian shook his head, eyes fixed to the cowboy. “I am not humoring you by being that generous with my personal details. Five or none.”

“Nine!”

“Five.”

“Eight, and I promise to keep my mouth shut for the following hour!”

Machiavelli paused at that, tilting this head slightly to the side. “Well, that is an offer I find hard to refuse.” A faint hint of a smirk appeared, his eyes narrowing with interest. “But I have one condition I am not willing to relent.”

With a questioning gaze, Billy regarded the other man for a moment. This was obviously Machiavelli’s method of securing his own back, a possible deceit or a back door for him to run to if the game failed to go his way.

And despite knowing this, the curiosity took a better of him and he swallowed the bait. “And what kind of rule is that?”

The sneer on Machiavelli’s face was all the confirmation he needed.

“We both shall answer the question. No matter who is the original questioner.”

Billy’s eyes widened, his mouth opening already in a protest. “That’s just plain stupid, man! Then I can’t ask you any real questions, the ones I really wanna know!”

A dry laughter ran through the room as Machiavelli clasped a hand over his mouth, his next words colored by his attempts to stifle his amusement. “And that is precisely the point, Billy. This way I can shelter myself from your undoubtedly inappropriate inquiries while maintaining my chance of perhaps dragging some useful information off from you.”

The crackling of the flames covered the sullen huff as Billy glared at the Italian, a pout rising to his lips as he threw his arms in the air. It was practically impossible to win an argument with the man. “Fine, whatever, if it helps you sleep at night. Can we just start, or is there more ‘conditions’ you’re gonna set up?”

“Just one more.” Machiavelli smiled at him. “The manner with which we share the eight questions is following; we both ask four, therefore reaching the end result of eight questions in total.”

Billy’s jaw fell a bit. Just how much effort would it take to play a simple, childish game with this man? “Ha, alright! _Now_ can we finally begin?”

The older man raised an eyebrow. “Of course. I shall go first.”

“Obviously”, Billy muttered, but settled on leaning back against his outspread arms, taking more comfortable position near the campfire and enjoying the warmth curling up his whole body. He was determined to savor this fleeing hours of peace, just two of them fooling around while the world around them spiraled gradually out of control. No matter that he knew Machiavelli would inexorably stretch the truth out, or outright lie to his face. He could still wrench out some fun out of this, and if the long years of his former life had taught him anything, it was ceasing the moment and appreciating your current situation if it gave even the slightest reason to do so.

Machiavelli’s well-articulated voice broke him out of the trance he had fallen into, the first question starting their night.

“You mentioned using this type of game with your former dates. My question is; how many of them have you had since you became immortal?”

To say that Billy was surprised by the nerve of his companion would be a dire underestimation. He had expected something regarding his elder master, or perhaps an inquiry about his stands with their ongoing mission within the island. Or even an easy starter like ‘your favorite color’. Certainly not a direct hit to his social life.

But then again, Machiavelli had not agreed on playing with him out of entertainment.

Did the man ever do anything purely for the fun of it?

It took him a moment to compose himself before managing to appear indifferent enough to answer. “I’ve had somewhere between five to twelve. Three of which I considered being rather stable and possibly worth pursuing further.” He shrugged lightly, running a hand through his messy thatch. “Never went all the way with anyone of them, y’know? Not like a full relationship or anything. Just a bit of messing around and relieving some stress. I am a young lad, after all.” He paused for a second, frowning. “Or at least some might call me that.”

“Indeed.”

The face Machiavelli was making confused Billy. There was a fine wrinkle on his nose, as if he had just smelled something bad, but the outlaw had now been around the Italian long enough to know not to bring it up when the evening was just starting. The magician had a tendency to hold grudges for years.

To direct the mood away from his reveal, Billy smiled and swiped his thumbs against his lower lip. Now this was getting interesting. “Well then, since you got your answer, I think it’s my turn. So, how many have _you_ had?”

“None.”

A rather short of an answer, without doubt. And disappointing at that.

He couldn’t let it slide that easily. “Come on! We agreed that we’d tell the truth. There’s no way you’ve managed to keep your paws to yourself for hundreds of years!”

Machiavelli’s frown increased, this time hardening his gray gaze and drawing his mouth to a thin, bitter line. “And yet I did. Shall we move to the next question, or do we call it a night and stop altogether?”

His tone left to room for argument. It rarely did. As usual, the cowboy sucked it up, let out a disappointed growl and began to ponder his own first question for the Italian. No point in fighting a lost battle.

The question itself turned out to be a harder task than he had anticipated. It’d need to be something personal, since that was the whole idea of this game, yet trifling enough to lure out an honest answer from the other man.

A man who had spent his entire life lying, cheating and manipulating.

He came to the conclusion that a simple start would be the most profitable.

“What is your favorite movie?”

For the first time, Billy had accomplish something he had tried to do from the day one when the two of them had met at San Francisco; he had stunned Machiavelli speechless.

The usually calm expression had turned into a bewildered stare, the long fingers rising up to tap Machiavelli’s chin absently. Looking for a trick, a clue to give away the plan behind such a basic question.

He couldn’t think of any.

Carefully, almost as if there was something severe at stake here, he laid his hand down and drilled his calculating eyes into Billy’s far more eager ones.

“I find the production of Guillermo del Toro to be rather engaging.”

The outlaw’s face seemed to lit up, and he didn’t even try to conceal his joy as he nearly jumped to his feet, propped forward and clapped his hands together with glee. “No way, dude! You have a thing for monster movies? I’m more of a horror-type of guy myself, but wouldn’t sniff at the solid monster film!” his eyes sparkled in the flimsy lighting, a sincere smile appearing on his lips. “We should watch something together after this is all set and done! I heard that people can download stuff from the web nowadays, we could literally throw a little movie night of our own!”

“I do not think I would enjoy the type of content you’d prefer”, Machiavelli said, scowling a bit. “Horror themes do not interest me.”

The statement did nothing to restrain Billy’s enthusiasm, and before he could object, the cowboy had crossed what little space they had between them and flopped down right next to him. Their knees were now touching, but the cowboy didn’t seem to notice anything being amiss.

Machiavelli did. Intensely.

The proximity of the outlaw proved to be a major distractor, especially since his latest true human contact concerned him dragging the other man out from the claws of a nereid, nearly drowning himself in the process. Before the adventure earlier that day, the closest thing Machiavelli’d had for actual touch of another living being was the swift brush of hands he experienced when he handed his plane ticket to the flight personal at the airport upon his arrival to the States. The fact that at this very moment, there was a another person sitting nearly within his lap caused the magician to pull back slightly. And yet, as he did so, a small voice inside of his head accused him for rejecting a completely normal part of human interaction.

Billy didn’t appear to be bothered by the act. Why should he make a fuss about it?

He startled when Billy pulled out a smart phone from the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. The screen hopped to life, and with nimble fingers, the cowboy began to search something from the web.

“So, I saw this trailer about a month ago. There’s this old, deteriorating house in a small town in Pennsylvania, and a family is moving from England to live there after the father passed away, yeah? And as the mother and two children start to settle in, strange things begin to happen around the younger kid -”

The aimless babble falling from Billy’s lips went entirely over Machiavelli’s head. As the cowboy kept on going, he couldn’t bring himself to focus too profoundly to the other man’s words. Instead his attention was directed to the knee next to his own, and more precisely to the movement of it.

It seemed that Billy simply could not hold still for a five minutes without at least tapping his fingers against his own thigh, or in this case, twitching his knee up and down in rapid motions while simultaneously gesturing wildly with his left hand towards the screen of his phone. When Machiavelli turned his own gaze down to take a closer look at whatever it was that Billy was trying to show him, the outlaw leaned to the side and managed to push their bodies even more tightly together.

The warmth radiating through the damp jeans currently pressing against his own dark trousers felt... Good. And for the first time during his days as immortal, Machiavelli realized that he did miss the presence of another human being. A person who wished to be near him despite his apparent flaws and shortcomings. Someone who did so without having an ulterior motive playing in the background.

Machiavelli did not believe Billy to be that much of a strategist. Not after coming to familiar with the man’s propensity to act before thinking, proven by the unwilling swim they had partaken just a half an hour ago.

“So, we should totally watch it!”

Snapping out of his roaming thoughts, Machiavelli blinked twice and turned to properly look at the shining blue eyes glued to his gray ones. Clearing his throat, he tried his best to grasp what exactly had they been talking about before his mind started to wander? Movies, correct? And their preferences regarding the respected genres of them?

He couldn’t let Billy wait much longer. The younger man was getting restless, rubbing his hands against his jeans and shifting his weight slightly from side to side. He was obviously attempting to appear calm and collected, but Machiavelli could see the tension in the other man’s posture.

Whatever it was that they were building up here clearly meant a quite bit for Billy.

Machiavelli coughed yet again, before willing himself to say something, if only to break the silence looming over them. “Ah, yes. Yes, perhaps we should.” He glanced at the phone Billy was still holding, squinting his eyes at the bright setting. “Although this one seems to contain a fairly lot of blood and various pieces of intestinal. I don’t see how you can enjoy such carnage.”

The plain statement caused Billy to blush suddenly. His wide smile faltered, and  before Machiavelli could say anything more, he quickly slipped the cell back to his breast pocket. When he spoke out, it became apparent to Machiavelli that he had just said something wrong.

“We don’t necessary have to watch _this_ one. I’m just saying that we should spend some time together after we’ve settled out scores here.” Cowboy’s voice dropped a few pitch lower. “I know this kind of stuff is not for everybody, hell, even I get sick to my stomach sometimes when I watch them.”

An odd, suffocating feeling pushed itself up Machiavelli’s chest. Blinking rapidly, he willed his mind to backtrack and find out where he had gone wrong with this conversation. Did Billy feel ashamed of his taste of entertainment? But surely he would know that Machiavelli was merely teasing him, poking fun at the few characteristics he had managed to pick out during their short time together? A man with Machiavelli’s reputation certainly had no right to judge people’s interests out loud, no matter what he personally thought about them.

Just as he was about to speak up, to assure Billy that he had been far from being serious, the cowboy let out a loud groan and startled Machiavelli by slapping his hands against his own face, hard. A flood of speech soon followed, drowning down Italian’s weak attempt to correct himself.

“I’m not doing a mighty fine job with this, am I?” The tone of Billy’s voice was much more quiet than usual. “I mean, this was supposed to be just for fun n’ all.”

As he watched the outlaw wring his sweaty hands together, Machiavelli couldn’t stop himself from twitching on his seat. He had never been a good listener, not in the sense commonly equated to the understanding or relating to other people’s problems. That was a trait he never felt obligated to learn, considering his main goal had always been observing and manipulating, rather than genuinely offering comfort.

This game of theirs was starting to gather a worrying amount of gravity, and he was not entirely sure how he felt about that. On the other hand, he wished to know more about Billy, if only to further guarantee his own safety, but then again, asking too directly could lead to a false answer.

Yet the look on the younger man’s face caused something to stir inside of him, something he hadn’t felt since he lost his wife and children. He wanted to know more, and for the first time in years, not to gain an advance.

He was simply curious.

Slowly, making sure his own voice remained even, Machiavelli finally spoke out.

“So, what is the reason you enjoy watching those movies?”

The way Billy’s head jerked upwards was comical enough for Machiavelli to summon up a small smile. It was apparent that the cowboy hadn’t given much thought to this, since his questioning eyes darted towards the calm gray ones, his brow creasing as he stared at the Italian.

“You know Mac, you’re really stretching our game rules.” A sunburned hand passed through his messy hair, tangling into the knots of salt water and mud. “I thought we were limited to eight questions in total. You sure you wanna waste one of yours to something as trivial as this?”

“I am not wasting anything. I am asking because I can see you need to consider this little more deeply yourself.” He met the suspicious blue gaze with patience. “It seems to be bothering you, and I’m offering you a chance to talk about it.”

Billy pursed his lips, his eyes thoughtful. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to ditch our game and fish out some additional information about me for your own personal database.” A slight smirk became visible, and the familiar glint of tease, albeit a bit fickle, reappeared into the cowboy’s open stare.“Tsk tsk, such a nosy man you turned out to be.”

Machiavelli sighed, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “Call it how you like Billy, but you wouldn’t have brought this up if it didn’t matter to you. You could have just named a random horror film as your favorite, and move on. Yet you chose to elaborate.” He glanced at his side, noticing the way the cowboy was unconsciously biting his lower lip while shifting his gaze from their shared look. “You wanted to talk about this topic. And I am listening.”

“Purely out of your own good will, eh? Give me a break, Mac.”

Bracing his right hand against his thigh for support, Machiavelli leaned forward and tossed a thin, damp piece of wood to the fading embers. “Not entirely, no. But was there ever a doubt about that when you invited me to play this stupid game of yours?”

His words dragged a faint chuckle out of Billy, and Machiavelli was pleased to see those azure eyes light up again, tense shoulders easing a little as the younger man seemingly shook himself out of his crestfallen thoughts.

“You know what, I think you got me there, Italian. Never play a game of words with politician, am I right?”

“Quite.”  Machiavelli said, smiling himself. “Now, about your uncanny fascination regarding the separated body parts of human beings...”

The sigh Billy let out was exaggerated to say the least, but in the face of finally furthering the conversation, Machiavelli let it slide.

“Well, since you really want to know.” The cowboy suddenly slapped his open palm hard against Machiavelli’s shoulder, startling the older man to the point of wincing. “But be warned, this is gonna get pretty sappy.”

“How wonderful.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... I wrote this chapter almost a year ago and never posted it...  
> I forgot.  
> I fucking forgot that I didn't ever publish it here.  
> SO SORRY! But here it is now, with my sincere apology.

“So, I guess it really started when I was nine years old.”

Machiavelli huffed. “Now what on earth does that have to do with anything? There were no movies around when you were a child, Billy.”

The room around them was finally starting to warm up properly, allowing them to relax more as the flames rose higher towards the small cracks near the edges of the ceiling. The heat was showing on Billy’s face as well, his cheeks turning to a shallow shade of red. His grin, however, did not falter.

“Aren’t you a smart cookie, Mac. Yeah true, my obsession with gore films didn’t lit up quite that early, but the story begins there.” He glanced at Machiavelli, eyes twinkling. “You of all people should know that some tales take time to develop.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right.” The magician brushed his hand against the drying fabric of his ultimately ruined trousers. “So, do tell how this relates to the matter we were originally discussing?”

A small eye roll did not escape Machiavelli’s notion, but he’d let it slide in favor of furthering the conversation. 

“When I was nine, I got my first pistol.”

Machiavelli raised his brows at that. “Who would trust a child with a loaded gun? Surely not your parents?”

“No, not per se”, Billy said, smirking. “I didn’t exactly ask permission. It was my father’s revolver, a memento from his time as a bank robber.” With a chuckle, he ran his fingers once again through his messy heap of hair. “Figured he wouldn’t need it anymore, might as well take the old girl out for a spin every now and then, y’know?”

“You had a resourceful mind for a nine year old.”

Billy laughed, quickly wiping his running nose at the process. “Yeah, you could say that. But there’s only so much one can do if they live behind God’s back.” Since Machiavelli remained silent, merely watching him closely, he went on. “I got pretty good at handling that thing. Was the best shot at the whole damn turf. Could hit a can from 49 feet away, right to the middle.”

Machiavelli chose the time to spoke out. “I still fail to see how this has anything to do with your taste of movies.”

“I’m getting to that! So, my town was not a big one. Soon every kid knew about me, and wanted to see me shoot. Some even paid me to get their hands on the real gun. To try it, see if they’d beat me.” Billy fell silent for a moment, his gaze turning darker. “That’s when the first one happened.”

“First of what?” Machiavelli asked, frowning slightly.

“The first accident. Was bound to happen at some point.”

Machiavelli’s frown grew deeper, his eyes searching Billy’s. “Then what exactly -?”

With a heavy breath, Billy lifted his head and tossed it backwards, now staring intensely at the partly broken roof of the room. “He wanted to shoot. I think his name was Jack, or maybe John. We weren’t even friends, not really, he had just come with the others.” The cowboy’s eyes dropped, his gaze now nailed to the muddy ground. “I said no, but he wouldn’t listen. We struggled for a while, me trying to wrench the gun away from him, and he tugging it back.”

Machiavelli could already see where this was heading.

He didn’t say anything.

As the moment of silence was starting to drag on, Billy’s hand began to tap absentmindedly against his jeans, fingers rubbing the harsh denim without him even noticing. 

“The gun went off.” Billy’s voice was steady, even if his body remained rigid. “The bullet hit him below the ribs.”

The atmosphere in the room was changing fast, and the grinding wave of stillness Machiavelli cleared his throat, trying to come up with something to say. Fortunately he was saved by Billy’s dry burst of laughter, although the bitter undertone of it set the magician on edge.

“What are you supposed to do when something like that happens, Mac?” It was obviously a rhetorical question, so the Italian kept his mouth shut as the younger man went on without much of a stop. “We were a bunch of kids! I had never shot anybody, anything living that is. And now there was a bleeding body lying at my feet.”

It started to seem like a appropriate time to speak up, so with a slight adjustment on his seat, Machiavelli leaned towards Billy. “You are not expected to know such things at that age. Ideally no one should be forced to know things like that.”

“I realize that now.” A deep gasp was muffled by the hands Billy was rubbing across his face. “But there is more to it than that.” 

“Of course there is.”

Waving his hand with a faint attempt to dismiss the man, Billy acted as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “So, now we have a corpse in our hands. A kid who has a family at home, waiting for him. What do you do? You can’t just stroll up to the folks and tell them you shot their kid with a gun you’re not supposed to have.” Blue eyes narrowing, Billy leaned forward and set his weight on his elbows with a heavy sigh. “We made the wrong decision.”

Machiavelli’s tone was even. “What did you do?” 

“We tossed the body into a canyon and told nobody about it.”

The silence fell once again. The slight cracking of the wood in the fire filled the room as the two men merely sat still, side by side with their eyes facing towards the flames. Outside the walls, a howling gust of wind tried to push its way through the stone, adding a layer of dread into the quiet noise of the island. 

It went on for a while, Billy lost in his own thoughts and Machiavelli unsure of how to drag him out of it. Any attempts of comfort would most likely be declined, and he’d feel foolish for even offering. This was not his area of expertise, and he was more than willing to admit that. Therefore he settled for waiting, his arm reaching out to throw some more logs into the fire while keeping an eye out for the man sitting beside him. 

He waited for several minutes before the cowboy suddenly sat up straight, brushed an errand hair back against his head, and turned his more focused gaze to Machiavelli.

“Uh, sorry about that. Stuff got a bit too real there for a sec.” The blush on his cheeks was back, but Machiavelli didn’t pay it any mind. In all honesty, he didn’t feel like he had any right to.

“Well, to be fair I was the one who insisted upon you telling the story in the first place,” he said and gave the man a small, borderline genuine smile. “Although I am certain you’d be more than happy to carry on on our game now, correct?”

The sight of a relieved content on Billy’s face was evident even before he answered. “You’re damn right about that!” A shaky grin was rising to meet with Machiavelli’s own, a playful spark back in Billy’s eyes. “But you got more than enough information out of that, so your turn is definitely used up!”

Machiavelli arched a brow. “Bending the rules now, are we?”

“Says a man who is trying to fish out info in between questions.”

With a over-dramatic sigh and a tilt of his head, Machiavelli gave in. It was an idle game anyway. And Billy was right, the story he had heard was worth at least one question, if not several. It revealed some interesting details about the young man, and to his mild surprise, Machiavelli found himself invested in it with more ways than simply professionally. 

But that train of thought was quickly derailed and pulled to halt, his mind pushing the idea out before it’d have a chance to linger. “Fine, we’ll skip my question. I suspect you have one ready to go already?” 

“I sure do,” Billy said, beaming. “It’s a pretty simple one: Do you miss Florence?”

It was indeed a simple enough inquiry. “Yes, from time to time.”

Billy leaned in closer. “What do you miss about it?”

Stretching the rules once more, it seemed. However, Machiavelli couldn’t bring himself to care at this point.

“I suppose the false mental image of it, rather than the city itself.” Seeing Billy’s confused look prompted him to add, “It is common to remember the past fondly, having the time gild your memories. I’m certain if I were go return there, it wouldn’t feel the same as it did when I left.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Billy muttered, turning his attention to the fire. “Although for me, I think it’d be nice to go back to my hometown. Not to stay for good, but for me to take a final look at the place, try and see if it measures up now that I have seen so much more in the world.”

Without thinking further, Machiavelli spoke out, using his own question. “Do you regret it? Having turned into a immortal?”

At that, Billy looked up sharply and shook his head. “No, never have. And I’ll never will.” He didn’t elaborate, and Machiavelli didn’t push. 

When Billy raised questioning eyebrows at him, he took a moment to consider. Only a moment though. 

“I feel I do regret it myself every now and then. But given how little time you been affected by it, I think you might change your mind as well. Sooner or later.”

“Hmm.” The cowboy kicked his legs out, letting out a content hum when his joints popped. “Well I could always go and ask my master to withdraw it. Or raise enough hell for him to do it on his own merit.” 

Despite himself, Machiavelli chuckled out loud. “An easy feat for you, I have no doubts.”

After a few minutes of calming silence, Billy glanced at him carefully. His voice was tentative. “So, since we’re reminiscing here, I’ll just go with it.” He made a slight pause, lifting his hand to comb through his hair. “Do you... I mean I dunno if you’re a family man or not, but if you were... Do you miss them? After so many years?”

It came out awkwardly. Extremely so. And yet the cowboy managed to hold his head high, staring at the man next to him like he had all the right in the world to ask such a personal question from one of the most notorious liars on Earth. Unable to look away, Machiavelli only blinked, taken aback. But he answered. 

“Immensely. Every day of my life.”

A small flicker of something tender flashed in Billy’s stare. “So... It doesn’t become easier over time?”

Machiavelli shook his head. 

The flock of hair hanged loosely before Billy’s eyes, and the outlaw’s gaze moved down. “I still miss my mom. Sometimes, when I’m on the move, going from town to town, I think I see her in the crowd, y’know? And I know it’s crazy, but it just won’t go away.”

Machiavelli could relate. The numerous of times he had thought he saw his dear son among the children running at the playground, or catched a sight of his wife on a busy street... 

“Okay, this is totally turning into a depressed therapy session over here!” Billy’s shout startled Machiavelli, causing him to jump on his seat as the young man flopped back, now lying on the filthy concrete floor.

“Must you stain your only set of clothes right away?” Machiavelli said, grimacing when he saw the way Billy’s red shirt had turned into a shade of brown. “Lord knows what has roamed on these halls before us.”

Billy smirked. “Is that your last question? You know we only have one each now.” 

Huffing mildly, Machiavelli stood up as well. “I believe it is my turn then. And since I am growing rather tired of this ridiculous game, I’ll make it an easy one: Why are you here? What lead you to the conclusion of accepting immortality from an Elder?”

“That’s two questions if we’re being precise.” Billy’s teasing went unnoticed, and with a silent snicker he answered. “Why does anyone accept that offer? I was curious, Mac. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to see where the road would end, so to speak.” He halted, averting his eyes momentarily. “Besides, it’s not like I really had anything to worry about in regards of leaving my life behind.”

His head popped back up, his look aimed at Machiavelli. “What about you? Why would a man like yourself want to become immortal?”

Now there was a question Machiavelli had no problem of answering. “For power. Nothing more. It was a game for me from the beginning.” It was not entirely truthful, but it was a lie he had told so many times that in his mind it might as well be the truth at this point. “And it has served me well, all things considering.”

“Fair enough.” Gazing at the fire, Billy took in a breath. “So, the final question. One last chance to dig up some information of you.” He spun around on his heels, his face serious. “I’m going to make this one count, Mac. And you better be honest with me here.” 

Machiavelli rolled his eyes. “Just ask the question, Billy.” However, there was a nervous sensation dancing in the pit of his stomach. The game had taken a rather somber course as it went on, and despite Billy’s flippant nature, Machiavelli couldn’t help but feel a tinge of shudder run over him when it came to the last question.

He watched the outlaw leaning in. The way Billy’s stare seemed to drill into his soul made him want to squirm but he hold his ground, nailing his eyes with Billy. 

Taking a deep, calculated breath, the cowboy asked his question.

“Do you wear boxers or briefs?”

The sound of a slap that followed echoed far beyond the edges of the island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a fucking year, it is now a complete fic.  
> From a complete idiot *slams my head against the desk*


End file.
